ISE. Well?

CLARE. I went down to my people. I knew it would hurt my Dad
frightfully, but somehow I thought I could make him see. No good.
He was awfully sweet, only--he couldn't.

MALISE. [Softly] We English love liberty in those who don't belong
to us. Yes.

CLARE. It was horrible. There were the children--and my old nurse.
I could never live at home now. They'd think I was----. Impossible
--utterly! I'd made up my mind to go back to my owner--And then--
he came down himself. I couldn't d it. To be hauled back and begin
all over again; I simply couldn't. I watched for a chance; and ran
to the station, and came up to an hotel.

MALISE. Bravo!

CLARE. I don't know--no pluck this morning! You see, I've got to
earn my living--no money; only a few things I can sell. All
yesterday I was walking about, looking at the women. How does anyone
ever get a chance?

MALISE. Sooner than you should hurt his dignity by working, your
husband would pension you off.

CLARE. If I don't go back to him I couldn't take it.

MALISE. Good!

CLARE. I've thought of nursing, but it's a long training, and I do
so hate watching pain. The fact is, I'm pretty hopeless; can't even
do art work. I came to ask you about the stage.

MALISE. Have you ever acted? [CLARE shakes her head] You mightn't
think so, but I've heard there's a prejudice in favour of training.
There's Chorus--I don't recommend it. How about your brother?

CLARE. My brother's got nothing to spare, and he wants to get
married; and he's going back to India in September. The only friend
I should care to bother is Mrs. Fullarton, and she's--got a husband.

MALISE. I remember the gentleman.

CLARE. Besides, I should be besieged day and night to go back. I
must lie doggo somehow.

MALISE. It makes my blood boil to think of women like you. God help
all ladies without money.

CLARE. I expect I shall have to go back.

MALISE. No, no! We shall find something. Keep your soul alive at
all costs. What! let him hang on to you till you're nothing but--
emptiness and ache, till you lose even the power to ache. Sit in his
drawing-room, pay calls, play Bridge, go out with him to dinners,
return to--duty; and feel less and less, and be less and less, and so
grow old and--die!

[The bell rings.]

MALISE. [Looking at the door in doubt] By the wayhe'd no means of
tracing you?

[She shakes her head.]

[The bell rings ag